


Touch-Contact

by Kay (sincere)



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincere/pseuds/Kay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. H is a man full of secrets. So many secrets, in fact, that it's hard to so much as learn where he lives -- even for Joshua. This injustice is finally being remedied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch-Contact

Sanae Hanekoma's apartment looked like it came out of a magazine, or it would have, if any magazine could have so perfectly captured _style_. Everything about it was perfect: the furniture, sleek and classy and comfortable; the technology, expensive and attractive but never ostentatious; the decor, colorful modern art touching each angle of the rooms; the _view_ of Tokyo's nighttime silhouette out the immense wall-to-wall windows.

"It must be so convenient to be an Angel and have whatever you want," Joshua exclaimed delightedly the first time he saw it, to Sanae's amusement.

"Are you accusing me of something?" he returned. "Some shady dealings, perhaps?"

"Never," Joshua assured him. "I was just thinking about how a humble barista gets a place like this in _Shibuya_."

"Ahh, but I'm not just a humble barista," he said, and paused dramatically. "--I'm also a small business owner."

The Composer of Shibuya was certainly too dignified to make the ridiculous snorting sound that followed, so it must have come from the central air in the building. "Oh, well, that makes all the difference. By small business owner's standards, it's practically a rat's nest."

Sixty years and he'd never taken Joshua to his apartment. He had no excuse; Angels were not territorial creatures, were not very private, and certainly were not attached to material goods in the Realground. As luxurious as this apartment was for Tokyo, it was nothing more than a distraction from the work that kept him tuned into this plane.

But it _was_ Shibuya, and a man had to maintain a certain image.

Mostly the reason he hadn't brought Joshua back with him was because Joshua kept asking about it, and it did him some good to be denied his whims every now and again; although partly also because of this, what was happening right now; Joshua walking around like he owned the place, judging the art hanging on his walls and shaking his head, peering inside his refrigerator, drifting over to his cordless landline phone and pressing the play messages button so that they could both hear the dulcet tones of an earnest salaryman going, " _Good evening, CAT-sensei! I hope you are still doing well. I heard back from the Art Institute, and they said that they would be honored to have you graffiti the exhibition of your artwork, as you requested. If you would like to set a date, I can arrange for all the details..._ "

Joshua settled on one of the tall bar stools at his kitchen counter. "I'll take a coffee, assuming you're not going to charge me for it."

Sanae lifted his eyebrows. "Why wouldn't I? Charging for coffee is kind of my thing."

"Then I'll take a Kirin," Joshua said sweetly.

Incorrigible. Sanae opened the fridge to grab a beer for him.

"I have to say, your apartment lives exactly up to my expectations. Or down to them."

"You have a silver tongue, J," Sanae told him, dry.

Joshua leaned against the counter. "It's just that it matches your art so well. Beautiful and stylish and meaningful. But not... _real_."

He cracked open the top of the beer and set it down, meeting Joshua's predatory gaze without flinching. That was what Joshua did: he pushed, prodded, measured them and found where they were wanting and pointed it out to see how they reacted. For decades, he had weathered that treatment without giving Joshua the reaction he was looking for, but somehow he hadn't given up.

"There's no heart in this place. No Soul," Joshua said, lifting the bottle to his lips. "It's obvious to anyone who knows what to look for that there's no human living here."

"Careful now, J. Someone might think you liked humans, hearing you talk like that."

That soured the expression on the pale young man's face, but he just took a longer drink of his beer. "I love humans," he said blithely when he could. "It's humans who don't love humans."

And that was the reason Sanae _had_ brought him here, finally.

It was hard for him to say what distressed him more: the knowledge of what would happen to Shibuya if it kept going down this path, or the knowledge that Joshua's bitterness was what was sending it spiraling out of control.

There wasn't much he could do to halt it without stepping out of line. The Producer was forbidden from telling the Composer what to do, or even venturing an opinion in many cases; He must stay neutral in all things, and represent the Composer's will to Heaven. Human affairs were for humans to handle, and so He was supposed to just sit back and observe the Composer turning the millions of people in his charge into callous self-serving opportunists and then erasing them for being that way.

It wasn't the same as human contact, not when Sanae had never been human, and it wasn't going to give Joshua any more faith in Shibuya's future. But maybe he could use a little more of an intimate connection with one of the very few people in his life -- maybe it would bring him a little more happiness, and that would inspire more leniency.

All he said was, "What would you do if I were human and you couldn't complain about my tastes, kiddo?"

Joshua's lips curved up. "If you were human? Oh, dear. I think I'd manage to find something to complain about." He tossed his hair back. "Like, are you seriously still calling me _kiddo_? I'm getting close to a century old. How many more more decades before you stop talking about me like I'm a little boy?"

"All of them," Sanae pronounced, grinning roguishly. "I have an excellent memory, you know. I can still see you, that skinny kid in the yukata, barefoot more often than--"

"I get it, I get it," Joshua said, rolling his eyes. He took another long pull of his beer, but looked up contemplatively as Sanae leaned on the counter across from him.

"So? I finally brought you here. If you're done complaining, now what?" Sanae nodded at the living room. "We could watch movies. I have all the classics and and top-rated films. I have a pool table if you don't want the noise, I know you like pool--"

"What I want," Joshua interrupted again, uncurling his fingers from around the neck of the bottle, and reaching out to curl them into Sanae's tie instead, "is for you to show me your bedroom. I bet it's just as tastelessly perfect as the rest of this place."

Sanae let the young man reel him in, observing, "Is this your way of reminding me you're not fifteen anymore?"

Ignoring him, Joshua continued, "And we're going to have sex -- on your tastelessly huge bed with the tacky black comforter and ridiculous mountain of silver pillows."

"Oh, so you _have_ been here before?"

That won him a smirk, but Joshua was very close now, lips close enough to his that Sanae could taste his breath. "And then your apartment will have memories of _me_ in it, and they won't be little-boy memories."

He made a little humming noise, mm-hmm. Joshua's entire being was vibrating with that desire, deliberate, manipulative; filling all of Sanae's senses on multiple levels with his want. He was aware of the tactic, and he could probably have risen above it if he'd needed, but it was very effective, and _sometimes_ it was good to allow Joshua to have his way.

"Is that the Composer's will?" he asked, slightly husky, and Joshua leaned forward to seal their lips together.

He couldn't bear to watch Joshua sabotage himself, Shibuya; but he couldn't bear to leave him, either. It was much too late for that. All he could do was try to salvage what was left of the boy and his city.


End file.
